


In the Library with a Candlestick

by Inell



Series: 2017 Prompt Challenge [28]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Companionable Snark, Friends to Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Getting Together, Jackson Comes Back, Kissing, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Past Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Past Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate, Sassy Jackson Whittemore, Sassy Stiles Stilinski, assholes in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 18:37:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9455321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inell/pseuds/Inell
Summary: Jackson goes to Stiles’ house to clean up after patrol. Past misdeeds are remembered and new memories are made.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clotpolesonly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clotpolesonly/gifts).



> clotpolesonly said: “You look pretty hot in plaid.” = STILES TO JACKSON WHEN JACKSON IS WEARING HIS CLOTHES PLS PLS PLS
> 
> I freaking love writing these two, and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Fic #28 in my 2017 Prompt Challenge

“You don’t have anything else?” Jackson gives the plaid flannel a curled lip of disdain.

“Nope.” Stiles deliberately pops the P because it makes that nerve in Jackson’s neck twitch when he does so. He likes making Jackson twitch. Not like _that_. Ugh. It’s _Jackson_. Former childhood best friend turned enemy over a winning streak Stiles had in Monopoly when they were nine. He still can’t play that stupid game without remembering owning nearly every property and lording it over Jackson until Jackson had flipped the board, called him a bad name, and gone home to sulk. Jackson had been a big baby about it, even ignoring him at school the next day, so Stiles had sat with Scott at lunch, and that had been that.

There definitely isn’t _that_ _kind_ of twitching going on between them. Even if Stiles occasionally wishes differently.

“You do realize that I’m stronger than you, right? I could just move you from in front of your closet and take different clothes.” Jackson sneers slightly. “Something _not_ plaid.”

“You could but then I’d have to go show the pack the bruises that you’d likely cause because I’m a weak ickle human who bruises easily,” Stiles points out with a smug smile, “and they’d get pissed. Wouldn’t be good for your whole ‘making amends and trying to ingratiate yourself’ plan you came back from London with, would it?”

“You’re far from a weak human, and the pack knows it.” Jackson narrows his eyes. “You’d seriously do that, wouldn’t you? You’d lie to them just to fuck with me?”

“Duh. I’m not a nice person, Jackson.” Stiles grins. “I’m actually a huge asshole. I just happen to also be very loyal and defend what’s mine with every bit of my being. And I consider the pack to be mine.”

“Yeah, well, there was a time a lifetime ago when _I_ was yours,” Jackson mutters, glaring at the plaid shirt. “Your alleged loyalty is a bunch of bullshit. You replaced me with McCall immediately and made it your mission in life to piss me off.”

“You were a big baby about losing Monopoly. Not my fault you couldn’t handle my keen money making skills at age nine.” Stiles walks over to his desk chair and sits, spinning it back and forth as he watches Jackson. “Anyway, you replaced me with Danny. We both traded in smartasses for good guys with big hearts.”

“ _I_ was a big baby?” Jackson scoffs. “Says the kid who spent three days firing spitballs at me when I beat him at Clue?” He shakes his head. “Three days of sulking, Stiles. You didn’t even give me _one_.”

“Yeah, well, it was _Clue_. I’m the kid who wanted to be a cop just like my dad, and you only tried winning that one because I loved it so much.” Stiles hmphs, but his lips twist slightly because he remembers how much fun it had been hanging out with young Jackson, before the popularity got to his head and the jock persona shrunk his brain.

“Not my fault you couldn’t deduce that it was Professor Plum in the Library with a Candlestick.” Jackson smirks when Stiles narrows his eyes at him. “What? It was a proud win for me. Of course I remember the details. Just like every lacrosse game or swim meet I’ve won.”

“If you keep smirking, I’m going to take that shirt, and you’ll be forced to walk around with goblin goo covering your chest until you go home,” Stiles warns, reaching for his pad of Post-Its and pulling one off. He wads it up and puts it in his mouth, soaking it with spit before he tosses it at Jackson’s head. “He shoots. He scores! One point for the handsome genius with excellent taste in clothing.”

“It isn’t goblin goo.” Jackson picks up the spitball that lands on his shoulder and throws it back at Stiles, hitting him right in the forehead. “One point deducted from the wiseass with an attitude problem and _horrible_ taste in clothing.”

“Goblin goo sounds better than supernatural creature we have yet to identify innards.” Stiles shrugs before tearing another Post-It off the pad. This one, he turns into a paper airplane. A tiny one, but he’s confident it’ll fly. “Speaking of, you really _do_ need to take that shirt off and burn it because it stinks so bad that I don’t think even the fanciest washer will clean it.”

“I’m not burning my shirt, Stiles. I bought this at Harrods!” Jackson sniffs haughtily. “It cost more than your entire wardrobe, I’m sure, and there’s no way I’m just throwing it out because of some goo.”

“Ooooh. Look at the hoity toity Brit Wannabe.” Stiles aims the plane and lets it go. Disappointingly, Jackson reaches out and knocks it out of the sky without even looking at it. “Boo! You’re like King Kong for the tiny stick figure I drew as pilot.”

“Yeah, if King Kong were a gorgeous werewolf instead of an ugly monkey.” Jackson preens a moment before glaring at Stiles. “Don’t say a word.”

“A word.” Stiles smiles smugly, already bored now that his plane has been destroyed. He reaches for the laser pen his dad bought him for his birthday last year and clicks it, shining a red dot on the wall. “Are you going to try to catch the light?”

“The dog jokes were old back in sophomore year. They aren’t any fresher now,” Jackson says, giving him a very unimpressed look. “Do you have pants I can borrow? Mine are ruined with goo.”

“Oh, uh, sure.” Stiles stands up and walks over to his dresser. “We’re about the same height, at least, so they won’t be too long or too short, but I don’t think our waist measurements match. I’ve got some sweats that should do it, though.” He pulls out a pair of old gray sweatpants and tosses them to Jackson. “You know where the bathroom’s at. Go clean up before you start smelling as bad as your clothes.”

“If you _ever_ tell anyone that I wore sweatpants from a discount chain store and plaid, they won’t be able to find your body.” Jackson makes a face before stepping out and going to the bathroom to take a quick shower.

Once he leaves, Stiles grins because, despite the fact that he’d totally deny it, he’s happy Jackson came back to Beacon Hills for the last half of senior term. He’s missed their verbal sparring, and, sadly, Jackson’s the only one who can really keep up with him these days because the other sassy people in his life are either dead or left Beacon Hills for parts unknown. Well, not _unknown_ since he gets postcards from Derek every couple of weeks, and Peter sends him inappropriate snapchats from whichever city he’s terrorizing at any given time, but they both move around a lot so it’s sort of unknown.

While Jackson’s in the shower, Stiles has a group text thread going with Lydia, Scott, and Malia. He lets them know what he and Jackson came across during their patrol in the preserve, and then he sends them a copy of the picture he took right after Jackson killed the threat and was covered in dripping goo. He smiles at the picture because Jackson’s flipping him off but doesn’t actually look that pissed off. More triumphant than annoyed, probably because he’d killed the thing trying to kill them, so the wolfy inside had been shaking its tail, no doubt. Scott said he’d talk to Deaton about what they saw, Lydia complimented his photo taking skills, and Malia asked him if he was planning to fuck Jackson. Two out of three were normal things. The third, not so much.

Stiles quickly denies any naked intent with Jackson, but Malia just texts him a lot of inappropriate comments that sort of confirm she is, indeed, her father’s child because neither of them have boundaries and live to make Stiles feel hot yet gross at the same time in some weird type of arousal. He huffs in annoyance before typing out a firm GOODBYE in all caps to let them know he is done with the teasing and texts about a wet and naked Jackson probably needing help washing goop off his back. That is from Lydia, not Malia, hence the reason it isn’t completely perverted and overly descriptive. His phone buzzes again, and he checks it, laughing out loud when he sees Scott’s text after catching up on what the girls had been saying about Jackson. The simple ‘WTF Eeew’ with the sad face cracks him up, but he doesn’t reply because he isn’t going to encourage further texts.

“What’s so funny?” Jackson asks, sounding curious but trying to act like he doesn’t care at all.

“My friends are idiots,” Stiles says, sitting up on his bed and blinking at Jackson. “Damn. You look pretty hot in plaid.”

“I look hot in _everything_ ,” Jackson corrects him, smirking as he walks over and sits in the chair that Stiles recently vacated. “However, I’m confirmed that theory by wearing these horrible clothes and making them look good, so it’s now a fact.”

“No, it’s plaid and sweats. Everything would also encompass things like a spandex Batman costume, which, okay, yeah. With your muscles and lean frame, you’d look smoking. Or a tutu and ballet flats!” Stiles looks Jackson over and frowns. “Fuck, you’ve probably got the legs for that, don’t you?”

“I told you, dumbass. _Everything_.” Jackson smirks. “Why are your friends idiots? I’m certainly not disputing that fact, you’ll notice, because they _are_ , but I’m curious why you suddenly had that revelation?”

“No reason.” Stiles isn’t about to tell Jackson that Malia was suggesting Stiles climb him like a tree and get a piece of that since she thought it was obvious Jackson was panting after his dick. She’s totally wrong, after all, and that’d just be embarrassing. “Are you straight?”

“What?” Jackson stops smirking and shifts in the chair, spinning it to the left as he avoids look at Stiles. “What kind of question is that?”

“Dude. It’s just a question.” Stiles narrows his eyes. “That you aren’t answering. Why? I’m pansexual. I don’t really care what people identify as or what’s in the pants. When I find someone attractive, I want them, not their label.”

“I know what pansexual means, Stiles.” Jackson looks at him. “I prefer not to use labels at all. Alright?”

“Yeah, totally cool. I’m not a huge fan of labels, either. They’re just society’s way of trying to classify people and put them in boxes.” Stiles shrugs. “It’s just that most people, even those who don’t like them, tend to use them for easier explanations about things like gender and sexuality.”

“Why does my sexuality matter?” Jackson asks suddenly, narrowing his eyes. “Does it have something to do with your idiot friends?”

“No. Well, sort of. Malia just made some claims, and I know she’s full of shit, but I wasn’t sure if you even swung the way of liking dick so I was curious all of a sudden.” Stiles grins. “You know me and curiosity.”

“What kind of claims?” Jackson stops spinning and stares at Stiles. “What did she tell you?”

“That you’re sniffing after me and want me to mount you doggy style.” Stiles snorts. “She got a lot more descriptive than that, but it boils down to that. She’s full of shit, but it got me wondering.” It’d be something to add to the spank bank, at least, knowing Jackson _does_ swing that way.

“Someone needs to remind her that using our special senses to humiliate fellow creatures is inappropriate,” Jackson mutters, glaring at the wall. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up because I’m suggesting it’s wrong to bully or make fun of people, but I’ve changed, and shit like that is juvenile.”

“She isn’t bullying anyone, Jackson. She was teasing me.” Stiles knew the whole being totally honest with Malia thing would bite his ass at some point, but he hadn’t really thought Jackson would ever come back, so the chance of her meeting one half of the reason he realized he liked dick hadn’t been a possibility. Danny’s moved, so that other half will at least remain out of bounds for her. If Derek ever comes back, well, maybe he needs to have another chat with Malia about private sex talk and fantasies versus public admissions that can be shared widely.

“You think it’s funny, don’t you?” Jackson asks. “The idea of me being interested in you? The thought of, what was it you said, ‘mounting me doggy style’ makes you laugh?”

“Dude. Chill out.” Stiles swings his legs over the side of his bed. “Do you see me laughing? You want the truth, asshole? The truth is that the thought of mounting you gets me hard. It turns me on to think about you gagging for my dick. There’s nothing funny about that, and Malia wasn’t trying to humiliate you by making me think about you naked. She was trying to get me hard so you’d smell it and it’d make things awkward.”

“That’s not very nice of her,” Jackson mutters, giving Stiles an intense stare like he’s trying to read his mind.

“Eh, it’s how we are to each other now that we’re just friends and not dating. I mentioned the whole being an asshole thing already, and she gives back as good as I give.” Stiles shrugs. “It works for our friendship but others might find it problematic. Anyway, the point is, you look really hot in plaid, and the way those sweats fit around your thighs and hang off your hips is one of the sexiest things I’ve seen in a very long time. There. Does your ego feel flattered enough to calm down now?”

“That wasn’t a lie.” Jackson’s lip twitches slightly. “You think I look sexy wearing your clothes. They smell like you, you know? I’ve been hard since I pulled the sweats on because our scents are combining and it’s one of the best things I’ve smelled since being turned.”

“Huh?” Stiles blinks and narrows his eyes, studying Jackson suspiciously. “I wasn’t saying that for you to try placating me. All of the pack is pretty damn hot, and I’m a healthy teenager with an active sex drive.”

“Well, they’re not here. I am.” Jackson stands up and stalks over to the bed, looking a bit like a predator in a very arousing way. “Their loss,” he says before climbing onto Stiles’ lap and kissing him.

Stiles is so surprised by the kiss that he moves, knocking Jackson off his lap onto the floor and biting his own lip as he tries to catch Jackson. Jackson lands with a soft oomph and glares up at him. Stiles stares down and starts to laugh because, seriously, this is just absurd. “You kissed me!”

“You knocked me on my ass!”

“Because you kissed me! You hate me. Oh my God. No. You don’t hate me. You _do_ want me. Don’t you?” Stiles slides off the bed and straddles Jackson, leaning in and gripping his hair. “I’m kissing you now. Don’t bite.”

“Only when you beg,” Jackson promises, voice seductive in a way that makes Stiles’ dick twitch happily. Then Stiles is kissing him, and no one is falling on the floor. Probably because they’re lying on it already. It’s a wet kiss, messy and sloppy and more than a little desperate, and there are hands on Stiles’ ass and his back and squeezing and rubbing and moving together as they keep kissing. And it gets better, less sloppy, more passionate, licking and sucking and stroking until they’re rolling on the floor, kicking at dropped shoes and his backpack.

When they finally pull apart, Stiles’ shirt is half off, hanging on his neck and left arm, and Jackson’s shirt is missing two buttons because Stiles got frustrated trying to unbutton it to get to bare skin. His shirt, not Jackson’s, so at least he won’t owe him hundreds of dollars to replace it. He grins down at Jackson, rolling his hips slightly and watching the way Jackson’s nostrils flare and his eyes flash wolfy blue. “So that just happened.”

“It’s still happening, asshole,” Jackson murmurs, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes with swollen lips and sweat already glistening on his chest…or maybe that’s dampness from the shower. Whatever it is, it’s turning Stiles on because Jackson looks like some debauched pretty boy waiting to be driven to the edge over and over before finally being allowed to find release.

“Too fast,” Stiles whispers, shaking his head before those visions take over his and he starts thinking with the lower brain instead of the one in his head. “Not gonna fuck you before we’ve even gone on a date, Jax.”

“Let’s have a rematch,” Jackson says suddenly, leaning up to kiss Stiles, very thoroughly. “Do you still have Clue? Winner can decide: fucking first then date or date first then fucking.”

“I’m not leaving our relationship’s—is it a relationship? Like you really want to do something monogamous with me?—fate up to Professor Plum in the Library with a Candlestick,” Stiles tells him.

“I’m not opposed to polyamory discussions in the future, but I’d prefer not sharing until I’ve had my fill of you,” Jackson murmurs before he smirks. “And why not? We let Boardwalk’s ridiculous rent because _some asshole_ put multiple hotels on it ruin our friendship nearly a decade ago. Why not let Clue decide our relationship now?”

“You’re the asshole.” Stiles slowly smiles. “But, fine. You’re right. Let’s play, and I’m going to beat the pants off you, then I’m going to date you so good that you’ll want more dates before sex.”

Jackson snorts. “Considering our history with Clue, I think _I’ll_ win, and you’re going to be so exhausted when I’m finished fucking you that you’ll be too tired to even want to go on a date.”

“You know, either one of those options is sort of a win-win,” Stiles points out after stealing another kiss because he can’t resist when Jackson gets all smirky, not now that he’s got like permission to sneak kisses.

“Duh,” Jackson deadpans. “Now stop trying to distract me with that wicked mouths of yours. I’ve got a game to win, smartass.”

Stiles pushes himself to his feet and trips over his shoe on the way to the closet to find the old board game. He glances over his shoulder and grins. “You mean, you’ve got a game to lose, asshole.”

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr](http://inell.tumblr.com)


End file.
